


i'm your masochist, make me bleed

by mxjules



Series: Tsukishima Kei Week 2020 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Kuroo Tetsurou, Choking, Creampie, Crying, Edging, Face-Fucking, Knifeplay, M/M, Name-Calling, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Tsukishima Kei, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, just a liiiiiiiittle bit of blood, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxjules/pseuds/mxjules
Summary: Kuroo won't be forgetting the blond bassist any time soon.Day five: punk au
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Tsukishima Kei Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931359
Comments: 9
Kudos: 127
Collections: TsukkiBdayWeek2020





	i'm your masochist, make me bleed

**Author's Note:**

> A [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3TZIX9JtzlU6o0EDXkq5Fw?si=4e0eD3ZpTW28TcX9ePb89w) to ~set the mood.~ I imagine that Tsukki’s band sounds like PUP 
> 
> I'm literally so embarrassed, no one look at me
> 
>   
> also for legal reasons for the love of god PLEASE do not raw dog it with strangers, and kinks need to be talked about beforehand uwu

Day Four - punk /  ~~ royal au ~~ /  ~~ idol ~~

Kuroo has been bar tending at this shitty dive for a while, so he’s seen some shit. Busted lips, smashed noses, lewd acts on the floor in front of the stage, cigarette burns, a broken bone or two— there’s just something about small venues and rowdy acts that bring out a rough crowd, but at the very least, it means that his nights are very rarely boring. The act playing now, a punky group that goes by  _ Megaclite, _ has the crowd practically feeding out of the palms of their hands, and Kuroo isn’t too far away from becoming one of them.

When he’s not pouring garbage, bargain bin beers for people who can’t possibly be twenty-one yet, his eyes are glued to the stage — namely, one person in particular . The whole band has such  _ presence _ , don’t get him wrong — The drummer, a dude with weird yellow and black hair and a  _ serious _ fucking sneer, is banging the kit like personally wronged him. Lead vocals has this dumb, side swept middle part, but his smashing vocals and full tattoo sleeves help him fit the part. He actually already knows the guitarist —  Akaashi Keiji, an old friend who volunteered to help out when the venue owner told Kuroo that the  _ actual _ lead guitarist got food poisoning. They’re all cool, but the bassist. . . 

The  _ fucking  _ bassist. If it were humanly possible, Kuroo would be doing that Looney Tunes  _ awooga _ bullshit.

He’s impossibly tall, irresistibly lithe. The way his fingers strum the bass has Kuroo entranced like a siren song. His harmonies are hypnotizing, despite that quintessential pop punk whine that Kuroo usually finds off-putting. His light colored hair catches the reds and the blues of the flashing stage lights, and since the bar Kuroo is tending with his coworker Yaku is close to the stage, Kuroo can see droplets of sweat refracting on the porcelain skin of his neck and chest. He’s got ridiculous boots, with a thick heel and an unreasonable amount of buckles, that the skinniest red plaid ripped pants he’s ever seen are tucked into. Through the rips, he can see fishnet stockings, although  _ that _ doesn’t come as a surprise because this guy has the  _ audacity _ to be wearing nothing more than this but a leather harness, so he can see that the top of the fishnets lies just below his belly button.

What the  _ fuck _ .

That’s not even everything — Kuroo is can’t even  _ count _ the number of piercings glinting from this dude’s ears, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he definitely poured cheap beer all over himself when he realized that the blonde not only had a piercing running through each nipple, but he also had a nice looking stud sitting in the center of his tongue.

Kuroo found  _ that _ out when the blond made eye contact with him in the crowd in between songs, smirked, and stuck his tongue out at him between the ‘v’ of his fingers.

He’s either died and gone to heaven, or is currently in the same room as the devil himself, but Kuroo is too busy begging Yaku to cover the rest of the shift alone to think too much about it.

“Absolutely not, you fucking  _ degenerate _ .” Yaku is unsurprisingly  _ less _ than amused at the prospect of manning the bar by himself for the rest of the show. “I’m not helping with this.”

“Yaku, you don’t understand. I need to make this happen. If he doesn’t spit on my face tonight, I’m going to  _ cry.” Disgusting,  _ Yaku mumbles, but he‘s ignored. “Why don’t you care about my happiness?” Kuroo, one track minded and dramatic as he is, is still staring too intently at the blond on stage to notice the beer spilling onto his hand once again as he over pours. He’s sure that it can’t be a coincidence that the bassist’s eyes keep locking with his own, and he can’t fight the thought that he might be biting off more than he can chew.

The thought  _ thrills _ him.

Yaku just sighs, defeated, with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what? You’re useless right now anyway. Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind, and remember that you  _ owe _ me after this.” 

Kuroo surely doesn’t even hear the last part of Yaku’s irate ramblings, because his apron is already off and shoved beneath the counter before he’s pushing his way through the crowd towards the front of the stage. When he makes it to the front, it seems like the act is starting to wrap up — the band is playing a final, ska sounding, fast paced song, and all Kuroo can think about is licking the sweat that’s trickling down the side of the blond’s neck.

Judging by the condescending smirk he gets in return once he’s noticed, he might get exactly what he’s wishing for, and a chill runs down his spine despite the sweltering heat of the venue.

The song wraps up, and the band clears the stage for the next act. Kuroo takes this opportunity to wait in a dingy backstage hallway, away from the rest of the crowd, in hopes of catching the blond before his band has to leave. The rest of the band is still putting their instruments away when Kuroo is approached by Akaashi, who is still flushed scarlet from adrenaline and scorching stage lights.

“Kuroo,” he nearly purrs with a sly, lopsided smile, “he’s going to eat you  _ alive, _ just so you know.”

Kuroo just throws his head back and cackles. “I’m counting on that, Akaashi.”

“Your laugh seems just as annoying as the rest of you,” says a voice that sounds like honey, and Kuroo feels like he’s been subject to an electric shock.

Akaashi laughs, and just pats Kuroo on the shoulder. “Good luck, man. You’re gonna need it.”

Were Kuroo a lesser man, the tips of his ears probably would have burned red in embarrassment.

“Thankfully,” Kuroo says with his trademark grin, even if it doesn’t feel as convincing currently, “I don’t need to do a lot of talking, depending on where we go from here.” Now that he’s standing next to the blond, he’s nearly in shock at how tall the man is— he looked tall on stage, sure, but Kuroo didn’t expect a six inch difference in height between the two of them, lent to partially by the heel of the boots. If he wasn’t shivering with excitement before, he definitely was now.

_ Please, step on me. _

A merciless looking smirk split the blond’s face. “There any back rooms around here?”

Another jolt down Kuroo’s spine. Akaashi was right; he’s definitely about to be eaten alive.

“This way,” he gestures down the hallway, where a rarely used break room was sure to be empty. He leads the way, and desperately hopes this will be the last time he takes charge for the night. “You got a name?”

“Not that you really need to know it,” the blond scoffs, “but it’s Tsukishima.”

“Hmm,” Kuroo hums as he opens the door to the break room, “I’m Kuroo. Pretty name you’ve got— Dainty. Doesn’t seem to fit you.”

“Thankfully,” the blond drawls, following Kuroo into the room, “I’m not here to talk about names.”

The door clicks shut, followed by the mechanical sound of the lock, and Kuroo makes himself comfortable on the lone wooden table in the room. Well— about as comfortable as one can be when they’re tacky with stale beer, half hard, and sitting for the first time since the shift had started. Tsukishima makes his way across the room and stands in front of Kuroo with authority. It takes Kuroo a second to process that he’s being spoken to, too distracted by the barbells running through perfect, pink nipples.

“First things first,” Tsukishima speaks with a slight lisp, probably because of the piercing nestled in the middle of his tongue, “I don’t have a condom. Assuming you don’t have one either, are you clean, and are you okay with not using one?”

Kuroo’s dick twitches in interest, and he shrugs. “I’m clean— all my tests are up to date. Assuming the same is true for you, I’m fine.”

“I obviously am since I’m asking, but whatever. Second, I might hurt you. Is that good with you?” A fervent nod; this is  _ exactly  _ what Kuroo signed up for— “but don’t let me  _ hurt  _ you more than you want. If you can’t speak, hit me three times on the arm and I’ll stop.”

Kuroo is practically salivating, and for all the overconfidence he normally has, he can do nothing more than nod.

“I asked you a question, idiot. Use your words so I know that you understand,” Tsukishima says as he starts unbuttoning his pants. Kuroo can see Tsukishima’s semi-hard dick straining against the fishnets, and his brain feels hazy, like he’s the one that’s been drinking all night, but he manages to find the words.

“Yes, I understand. Three times on the arm, not that I’ll need it.” He means it, of course, but his tone makes it sound like he’s entirely too sure of himself. Tsukishima looks smug in response. He pulls a small pocket knife out of his back pocket and simply cuts through the front of his stockings, as if it would be too much work to fully undress. Kuroo is less than subtle with his excitement, jittery from the appearance of the blade, and elated when he realizes that right on the tip of Tsukishima’s thick, long cock sat another gleaming silver piercing.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, voice rough from the performance, “Get on your knees. If I’m going to fuck you, we have to see if you can make me properly hard first”

Kuroo’s grin is feral as he slides off the table and down to his knees, just like he was instructed. “I know what I’m doing, you don’t have to sound so—”   
  


“I don’t remember telling you to speak,” Tsukishima looks down at him and grabs Kuroo by the jaw, forcing his mouth open with his fingers, one thumb hooked behind Kuroo’s bottom teeth. “Now, you’re going to shut the fuck up, and I’m going to fuck your mouth until I’m tired of it.” Kuroo can do little more than slacken his jaw before his mouth is filled. The taste of salt and the smell of sweat from the show invades his senses, and his eyes already start to water when Tsukishima hits the back of his throat immediately and without warning.

He’s sucked a lot of dick, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt this desperate to perform. The metal in his throat is odd, but exhilarating. He bobs his head back and forth, swallowing around Tsukishima’s cock when he can in between breaths, and Tsukishima throws his head back with a groan. Looking up at Tsukishima, Kuroo makes eye contact as Tsukishima’s head lulls back forward, and he halfway smirks— at least, the best he smirk can offer with a mouth full of cock. One hand reaches up and flicks at one of those perfect nipples, and he preens and the accompanying groan that erupts from the base of Tsukishima’s throat. He comes off of Tsukishima’s cock with a wet  _ pop  _ and a Cheshire grin.

“How’s that for proper—” he’s cut off by a growl from the man standing in front of him, followed by a strong tug from the hand suddenly laced through his hair, and he can only whimper.

“Stop  _ fucking _ talking, asshole, and just  _ do what you’re told.”  _ Kuroo opens again, tongue pushed out and flat, and Tsukishima shoves himself back into Kuroo’s wet mouth and begins to fuck his face in earnest. Kuroo knows he can’t do more than let himself be used, and enjoy the feel of the tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He  _ loves _ this, and his own neglected cock strains painfully against the zipper of his jeans. Kuroo can barely breathe, not with his nose pressed into short, blonde curls with every thrust, and his thoughts come to hazy standstill— there's little more in his world now than Tsukishima and his abused mouth, lips numb from friction. 

Tsukishima looks down at him, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide, and smirks. One hand is still firm at the back of Kuroo’s head as he fucks him, but he uses one hand to wipe up some of the tears staining Kuroo’s cheeks. He brings his hand up to his own mouth, and licks the saltwater off of his finger, and Kuroo can do nothing more than whimper.

“You’re really  _ pathetic,  _ aren’t you,  _ Kuroo _ ?” His voice is dripping with disdain, and if Kuroo didn’t have a fully hard cock ramming the back of his throat currently, he’d be worried that this was disappointing.

As it were, though, Kuroo is a simple man, and comes in his pants, completely untouched like the stupid fucking teenager he was ten years ago. He moans around Tsukishima, and Tsukishima actually  _ laughs, _ suddenly pulling out without warning.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Did you just cum?” Kuroo tries to turn his face to the side, as if he could hide, but his face is once again in Tsukishima’s firm grip. He’s got no choice but to look up and nod— there’s no point in lying, and he’s honestly too brain dead right now to complain.

Tsukishima smiles cruelly, pressing the heel of his boot into Kuroo's crotch. “Unbelievable. You’re a slut, aren’t you? I have to admit, the tears  _ are  _ kind of cute.” He taps the side of Kuroo’s cheek, “Enough of that. Get up, and take off your pants.”

Kuroo is oversensitive right now, he knows, but he’s also overeager and still half hard in anticipation of what he knows to be coming next. He stands with wobbling knees and undresses his lower half as Tsukishima just smirks, tossing Kuroo’s pants to the side. He sits on the edge of the table, legs spread as he still chokes back sobs, and Tsukishima stands in between his legs. He leans down and Kuroo finally thinks their lips are  _ finally _ about to make contact, but instead, Tsukishima licks a long, wet stripe along where his tears have been flowing.

“You’re a fucking crybaby. Who would have guessed, with the way you were looking at me all night? I wouldn’t have expected you to be such a pushover.” Kuroo whimpers when their lips finally make contact, and Tsukishima slips his tongue into Kuroo’s mouth. Tsukishima tastes of salt and nicotine, and just as Kuroo’s tongue meets metal for the second time tonight, he can’t help but squirm when Tsukishima drags his spit-slick cock against his own, still covered with the remnant of his first release. They groan in unison, and Tsukishima reaches one hand towards Kuroo’s mouth.

“Open.” Again, Kuroo complies, and Tsukishima shoves his fingers into Kuroo’s mouth. Kuroo moans as he sucks on the digits, knowing it to be in his own best interest to coat them with as much saliva as possible. He licks at Tsukishima’s fingers until the taller man decides it to be enough, and he withdraws. Kuroo shivers when he feels a wet finger prod at his entrance, and groans when he feels it finally slip inside. Tsukishima wastes no time moving his finger in and out, prodding at the perfect spot almost immediately, making Kuroo throw his head back wantonly and curl his toes in pleasure.

Tsukishima laughs, “You’re easy, I’ve figured out by now, but I didn’t expect you to be  _ this _ easy.” Another finger is added to the first, and he starts scissoring Kuroo open. “You whine like a whore. Aren’t you embarrassed? Opening up like this for a stranger?” As if to prove a point, Tsukishima slips in a third finger, just a bit too early. Of course, Kuroo rolls his eyes back at the discomfort; this is what he’s been fantasizing over since he first saw the blond take the stage tonight.

“You complain about  _ me _ talking a lot,” Kuroo pants, “but  _ you’re _ the one who never shuts the fuck up—” There’s a sudden loss of the fingers filling him, and he whimpers in disappointment until he meets Tsukishima’s steely gaze. He feels like he’s fucked up, but that just makes him all the more eager.

“If anyone’s been told to shut the fuck up,” Tsukishima says with a voice heavy with lust as he reaches into his back pocket, “It’s you.” 

He pulls out the pocket knife from before, flipping it open, and dragging it down the side of Kuroo’s cheek with the dull edge of the blade. Kuroo’s eyes widen, both in slight terror and unbridled arousal, and he opens his mouth again, as if possessed. He presses his tongue out flat, and Tsukishima runs the cold flat of the blade along it— Kuroo can tell that despite all of Tsukishima’s degradation, he’s intensely careful to only apply pressure to the dulled back of the knife, and Kuroo isn’t  _ too _ worried about actually being cut.

That doesn’t detract from the thrill of chilled metal pressing into the meat of his tongue.

Tsukishima smirks, and grabs the bottom of Kuroo’s shirt— although, instead of lifting the shirt over Kuroo’s head, like he halfway expected, Tsukishima uses the knife to cut a long strip of fabric away from the bottom of Kuroo’s shirt.

“I would say that I hope this shirt isn't worth much to you,” he says snidely as he tucks the knife back into his pocket, “but I don’t actually care.” He stuffs the fabric into Kuroo’s mouth with little fanfare. If Kuroo had any functioning brain cells left, he’d probably cringe at the taste of the stale beer he’d soaked his shirt with earlier. “Let’s see you say some stupid shit to me again when you’re like this.”

Tears are gathering again at the corners of Kuroo’s eyes, and they threaten to spill when Tsukishima slips his fingers back inside of Kuroo. Tsukishima speaks again as he lazily thrusts his hand.

“You remember what I said, right? If it’s too much?” Kuroo is a little hazy, but he remembers the signal. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s thankful that the flaxen haired man hadn’t forgotten it himself. He nods as the tears spill from the corners of his eyes once again, moaning with abandon around the torn fabric of his shirt as Tsukishima repeatedly strokes the sweet spot inside of him. 

“Excellent,” Tsukishima breathes out as he removes his fingers. He spits onto his hand, palming at his own weeping length before he replaces his fingers that were inside Kuroo with his perfectly curved cock before Kuroo even has a chance to think about the change. His eyes widen at the unexpected, somewhat painful stretch, but Tsukishima at least has the good grace to give him a moment to adjust. True to his word, he wants to hurt Kuroo, but he doesn’t want to  _ hurt _ Kuroo. Tsukishima stays still, swiping a thumb across the wet trails on the side of Kuroo’s face, until Kuroo nods with a whimper.

If Kuroo didn’t relish in ‘ _ a bit too much, a bit too soon,’ _ he’d maybe have had to use Tsukishima’s signal, but instead he just throws his head back so hard in pleasure that he hits the table when Tsukishima bottoms out before pulling out again. Kuroo can feel the piercing teasing his rim before Tsukishima suddenly thrust in, and he knows that he won’t last long, despite his recent orgasm. With every stroke, Tsukishima pulls all the way out, dragging the metal from Kuroo’s entrance and across his prostate without shame. Kuroo reaches one hand out, gripping Tsukishima’s leather harness with a desperate need for something to ground him.

In some part of his consciousness, he recognizes that the wet cotton against his tongue is uncomfortable, especially when coupled with the steady stream of saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth, but that’s not a thought that he can form fully when the bassist is pounding into him so relentlessly. One of his legs is hooked over Tsukishima’s shoulder and he feels his second orgasam building, and right when he starts to writhe, Tsukishima curls an uncomfortable, tight fist around Kuroo’s leaking cock.

“You already came. This time, you’re only allowed to cum when I tell you. Nod if you understand.” Tsukishima’s grip doesn’t loosen, and his thrusts don’t slow, and Kuroo can only nod and choke on his makeshift gag, desperate for some kind of release. Were his mouth unoccupied, he’d surely be begging.

“Good boy. I knew you could listen properly.” He slams into him, in and out, and Kuroo is can't keep his vision focused because of the over stimulation, but he’s determined to follow instructions. This is what he wanted, he knows, and he’s going to be nothing less than compliant. His eyes roll into the back of his head when he feels one of Tsukishima’s broad hands come up to his neck and tighten around the base of his throat, cutting off his blood flow; it’s rare that someone actually knows how to properly choke, and Kuroo can do nothing more but whimper and writhe and fight off his impending orgasm as he becomes more and more lightheaded.

Tsukishima’s thrusts start to stutter, and the hand around his neck loosens. Kuroo is delirious at this point, both from unchecked arousal and the sudden lack, then flow of oxygen to his head, and he knows that neither of them can hold out much longer. Tsukishima has a hand wrapped around one of Kuroo’s legs in a bruising grip, but the other hand has once again pried Kuroo’s mouth open. He pulls out the fabric, throwing it across the room with an audible, wet slap, and pinches Kuroo’s tongue between his thumb and index finger, hard enough to be uncomfortable. Tsukishima pulls Kuroo’s tongue out of his mouth, and he maintains eye contact as he spits directly into Kuroo’s gaping maw, smirking despite his flushed cheeks and sanguine ears.

“You’ve been good, so you can come. I’ll  _ let  _ you.” Kuroo, not needing to be told twice, swallows Tsukishima’s saliva and immediately comes the hardest that he’s ever come in his life, spurting thick, hot ropes of white between the two of them. He knows that he has Tsukishima's cock in a near vice with how hard he’s spasming, and he realizes that it was enough to push Tsukishima over the edge when Tsukishima’s hips now meet his ass is slow, hard, stuttered thrusts, and Kuroo can feel that he’s being pumped full of hot come.

Tsukishima meets Kuroo again in a searing kiss, biting Kuroo’s tongue hard enough as he rides out his orgasm to draw blood. The taste of copper fills his mouth, but Kuroo is too fucked out to care. Tsukishima drags his tongue across the wound he made as if savoring the taste before pulling out. He uses what’s left of Kuroo’s mangled shirt to clean his softening cock before tucking himself back into his pants, regardless of the torn fishnets.

The man stands there, smirking down at Kuroo, as he drags a calloused finger across Kuroo’s leaking hole. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Kuroo nods, not trusting his voice after how raw his throat had been fucked and how hard he had come—  _ twice. _

“Good,” Tsukishima says, and he has the audacity to look sheepish  _ now, _ of all times. “You were fun too, I guess.” If he had his faculties about him, Kuroo would tease him relentlessly, but as it is, Kuroo is too satisfied and too fried to talk back. Tsukishima takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it as he hands it to Kuroo. “I suppose. . . I suppose that I wouldn’t mind if we were to see each other again next time the band tours here. Put your number in and text yourself.”

Kuroo nods, mumbling some thanks at Tsukishima’s obviously brilliant idea, and numbly types his number into the cellphone. Once he’s done and sent himself a message, his own phone piniging from somewhere across the room, Tsukishima nods, telling Kuroo that he has to leave with the band so they can make it to the next venue a few hundred kilometers away with enough time to spare. 

He captures Kuroo in one last lingering kiss, and Kuroo knows that he’ll never forget the way that this goodbye tastes like blood and sex.

Kuroo can do nothing more than lay there as Tsukishima leaves the room, out of breath and dazed by the semen that’s leaking from him. He’s never been fucked so thoroughly and if he were an idiot, he might have said something too cheesy for what just happened.

If he tells Yaku during their next shift that he’s irrevocably and irreverently in love with the bassist who, quite literally, fucked him stupid, that’s irrelevant.

And if he and Tsukishima stay in touch, well, that’s another story entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Yell at me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/juuleslovesyou)


End file.
